But I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “I have a couple errands to run.”

“I could go with you,” he offers.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” I ask, though even the thought of Troy with Adara makes me nauseous.

“For the last time,” he says, practically growling, “I do not have a girlfriend. Adara and I are not dating. Let it go already.”

“No,” I say. “If you’re not dating, then what are you doing? Because it certainly isn’t nothing.”

“You really want to know?” he asks.

I stare him down. “I really want to know.”

His cheeks flame up like he’s standing too close to a bonfire.

“I’m helping her,” he says. He ducks his head. “I’m helping the squad.”

“The squad?” I echo. “The cheerleading squad?”

He rubs his hands over his short hair. “I’m writing them a song, okay?”

“You’re writing a—?” I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Troy Travatas,” I say, struggling to keep a serious look on my face. “Are you writing a cheer?”

My laughter dies as he looks up at me, those gentle hazel eyes so full of embarrassment. That look cuts right through my humor. I don’t want to be responsible for making him feel bad. About anything.

“That’s pretty cool.” I soft-punch him in the shoulder. “Your first professional gig.”

He gives me a half smile. “I’m not getting paid or anything.”

“You don’t have to wear a uniform, do you?”

“No,” he says with a laugh.

I scan down to his feet. “Too bad. Your legs would look great in one of those pleated skirts.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head and I know I have my Troy back.

“Ha-ha,” he says, “very funny. Now if you’re done teasing me, we can grab dinner—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off as I force myself to refocus on the quest at hand. “I need some time alone.”

The thing about Adara provided some much-needed comic relief, but the big picture still looms. I have a huge day tomorrow. The stress and pressure are almost overwhelming.

Troy winces just enough to show that I hurt him. I know he’s sensitive and I know I’m pushing him away. But I can’t feel bad about that right now. There isn’t room in my brain.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, brushing past him as I walk down the steps.

I don’t turn back to see how long he stands there.

As I head away from the temple, I force thoughts of Troy out of my mind. I have enough to think about. I’m about to go back in time to stop my younger self from feeding ambrosia to Hera’s baby son. There is a whole world of pressure in that single act.